


Show Me Your Darkness

by jscript67



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst to Fluff, Avengers - Freeform, Comfort, Deadpool - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra, Kidnapped, Language, Marvel - Freeform, Neglect, Parallels, Torture, avenger - Freeform, i ignore some cannon things, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22683718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jscript67/pseuds/jscript67
Summary: You were killed at the hands of HYDRA but you came back stronger than you once were. They used you, mutilated you, silenced you, but they didn't break you.After getting out, and making friends with a few super-allies, one villain is about to unite your worlds in a way you never saw coming - but at what cost?After all, every good hero - or villain - has a tragic tale to tell. Don't they?
Relationships: Avengers Team/Reader, Frank Castle/Reader, Matt Murdock/Reader, Peter Parker/Reader, Reader/Everyone, Reader/Original Character, Wade Wilson/Reader, reader/oc
Comments: 9
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

_Drip_

_Drip_

_Drip_

The constant sound of liquid bouncing off the echoing walls of the cold, concrete floor wasn't the only thing driving you mad.

You couldn't remember the last time your hands and feet weren't bound, but you imagine it was around the last time you cried… the last time you spoke… the last time your eyes had any hope hidden within the dulling shine of their dull, (Y/E/C) iris's.

Whether it was rope, chain, or barbed wire, you were always tied down.

Exam tables, beds, insane dentist looking chairs - you name it, your ass has been on it.

"Suka ne mozhet umeret', prosto zapustite yeshche neskol'ko testov... YA khochu, chtoby eto vyyasnilos'. Teper'."

You'd think after 12 years in this prison you would have picked up at least somewhat of what the hell they were saying, but you'd be wrong.

The harsh bang of a metal door connecting with the wall of the decrepit, grey stone wall didn't even phase you at this point. Everything has become routine. Though the individual tests they perform may be different - some are a series of injections, some seeing how long you can go without breathing, how much blood you can lose, how much pain you can tolerate - it's always the same.

You always end in pain, and they never get the answers that they're so desperately looking for.

But something felt different…

One of the "doctors" that you recognized all too well sauntered up to your side.

You didn't move a muscle as you feel him check over the straps binding your limbs to the stained mattress underneath your cold, aching body. Not even your eyes move yet you see everything happening around you. 

You'd be lying to yourself if you said that you didn't think you were different; that there was something not quite normal about you.

You'd be lying if you said that you didn't want to know just what it was.

You'd be lying if you said that you didn't have control over whatever it was inside of you. Because you do.

As tempting as it was to know, as tempting as it was to finally have an answer to the question that you've been asking yourself ever since you could remember, you could not give them that win.

Because you knew that if they ever did crack you, if they ever did find out just what makes you so damn special, they'd use you in the most horrendous of ways.

They’ve already tried their so called "Winter Soldier Method", yet the brainwashing never worked. You'd end up fried and somehow you would morph right back into the same person you were before, just with a new memory or torture to hold onto. You'd heard rumors about the Metal-Armed Man that they had broken, that they had thought they'd claimed. You went from hearing warnings to rumors. You went from fellow prisoners telling you to watch yourself, that if you ever saw him I would be over, to hearing stories of how he was gone. Stories of how HYDRA had lost to him… and something about some man with the last name Rogers.

These stories used to give you hope, but quickly shifted to only bringing you pain. You first thought that maybe, just maybe you could be like him and break free. That maybe he'd come back and set all of you free. But all that happened was angrier guards, more security, and moving locations. No rescue. No freedom.

How silly of you to hope. Hope is for fairy tales, not horror stories.

It all remained the same. Just never ending torture.

Routine.

The sting of a needle snapped you out of your memories and back into the present.

You knew what was coming.

Your half-delirious mind began bracing itself for the following injections and the inevitable burning.

Sure enough, as each needle was pierced through your skin, you felt your veins spreading fire throughout your body - your heart filling your arteries with the flame as much as you try and force the beating to stop.

You knew that the calmer you stayed the slower the burning would spread, but you didn't know if that was better or worse than rushing it through your system; than feeling everything at once and recognizing your body screaming that it is alive as your voice stays quiet and eyes stay dead.

"Bol'she! My ne delayem etogo snova. U nas zakonchilos' vremya - eto vse ili nichego. Yeshche raz! YA khochu uvidet' yeye pereryv…".

Following the meaningless words, you were almost surprised to immediately feel another series of injections - making your body convulse with the pain no matter how hard you tried to force yourself still. Your eyes were wide and unmoving as your lips remain firmly shut, yet your body was thrashing.

Then it stops.

It felt like mere seconds yet long, agonizing days have gone by, but it stops.

The straps were undone and your body was dragged from the bed…

Just to be thrown to the dry concrete floor.

Silence. Nothingness. Then everything.

One after another, punches, kicks, and blunt objects all come into contact with your purpling skin - giving you no break, no mercy, and no time to breathe.

"Stop!"

Teetering on the edge of consciousness, you recognized as they all stop, yet you were too numb to care. You almost wanted them to keep going. You wanted them to finish it - to finish you. Dying would have been an escape at that point.

"Zakonchi eto. Chto by eto ni potrebovalos', ubeyte yego, yesli vam nuzhno. No zakonchite. Byli sdelany."

There were few times since being in that hell-hole that you had been truly tempted to unleash whatever you actually were, to give them what they wanted and release the unknown monster within you…

But none topped this.

Suffocation.

Cuts.

Slaps.

Punches.

Kicks.

Injections.

Everything all at once.

You had never wished for death more than in that moment.

And then it happened.

Your eyes closed.

Your breathing completely ceased.

Your blood no longer raced and flowed.

Everything stopped.

You, (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N), had died.

You felt nothing, and then… You felt everything.

Your eyes shot open as oxygen flooded your lungs. Your body jolted as you sat straight up on the rolling cot you had been placed back on top of.

Shouts of panic and confusion were echoing around you, but none topped your screaming.

For the first time in seven years, you let your voice be heard.

The burning, ripping sensation spreading across the span of your back was all that consumed you.

Reaching behind you, clawing at your skin, falling from the cot, you were desperate to do anything to stop the pain - but, as you returned your hands to your line of sight, you were met with a grueling image…

Blood and ash colored feathers stained and coated your skin.

You were stunned into silence, the pain still pushing it's way through your nerves but your mind becomes uncaring.

You feel it…

It felt as if you grew an extra pair of arms; unexplainable in every form but… right.

Your mind was racing and your body was pulsing with something new, something different that you couldn't quite put your finger on… Until someone put their finger on you.

As soon as you felt the hand of one of the unknown people in the grey stone room on your shoulder, your arm shot out and head turned back - the change in your eyes obvious but unknown to you. But what shocked you most was the sight of the HYDRA scientists laying limp on the floor in front of a dented wall…

Panic ensued.

Those around you did everything they could to pin you down. Weapons were drawn, fighting was pursuing, but for once you were finally stronger. You couldn't understand it, but everything that you wanted to happen was happening.

Your hands were radiating bursts of energy as you threw people against walls, flipped tables and equipment, and essentially disabled everyone and everything in that room aside from yourself.

It was like your imagination was coming to life, from your mind's eye, right in the reality in front of you

Once silence overtakes the cell, you stumble outside of your grey box and into the hallway lined with fellow prisoners. Guards try and approach yet get nowhere close. You're exhausted, but your instinct is wild and your adrenaline is racing; guiding your body and mind in what to do. You throw your arms up, and the bars follow suit.

Yells and shouts of surprise are heard, but are followed by the confused and awe-stricken expressions of those around you as they shuffle their weak bodies towards the front of their cellars. You were sure you looked like a true monster, soaked wet from the sprinklers raining down, red light glaring on and off your face from the emergency alarm and dirt and blood smeared across your body and remaining clothes; morphing with the sprinklers stream and flowing into a browning puddle beneath you.

"Go."

Your rough, shaky voice quietly yet forcefully commanded the one word before everyone around began cautiously walking, then running, towards the door.

Complete silence surrounded you. The only company you had was the flashing emergency lights.

The guards were dead. The prisoners were free.

And you were a monster.

You still didn't know exactly what you were, but one thing was certain…

You were done here.

Making your way to the very top of the building on your shaky legs, you eventually found the roof. You still hadn't gotten a good look at yourself, but just glancing to the side you saw raven-black blood coated wings, each one long enough and wide enough to engulf your body. You watched as the prisoners made their way out of the now-abandoned building, no doubt on a mission to find any civilization available. But you were past that.

You didn't want to be saved.

You'd been imprisoned for years, and the only thing you wanted was to be free.

You wanted to go.

Not knowing what the hell you were doing, but not caring one single bit, you staggered towards the edge of the building, climbing over the safety railing.

After one last glance down, you look out, shut your eyes, spread your arms and your wings, and fell.

You didn't care that you may hit the ground. You didn't care that you may fly. You almost don't expect to catch yourself.

You're eerily calm as the wind rushes against your skin. The freshness foreign and sweet. The sunlight you felt along your back was like an old friend from a far distant memory.

All you feel is free.

And then, you feel yourself stop falling,

and start flying.

\------------------------------------------------

TRANSLATIONS:

Suka ne mozhet umeret', prosto zapustite yeshche neskol'ko testov... YA khochu, chtoby eto vyyasnilos'. Teper':

The bitch can not die, just run some more test ... I want this to clear up. Now

Bol'she! My ne delayem etogo snova. U nas zakonchilos' vremya - eto vse ili nichego. Yeshche raz! YA khochu uvidet' yeye pereryv…:

More! We do not do it again. We have run out of time - it's all or nothing. Again! I want to see her break …

Zakonchi eto. Chto by eto ni potrebovalos', ubeyte yego, yesli vam nuzhno. No zakonchite. Byli sdelany:

Finish this. Whatever it takes, kill it if you need to. But finish it. Were done


	2. Chapter 2

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

The slight sound of rain pitter-pattering against the slick concrete of the streets of Queens rang like alarms in Peters ears.

Everything was a blur; everything was too quiet yet all too loud at the same time.

Nothing made sense.

Trying to make out the harsh lights and blurring figures through the tears welling in his eyes, he's desperate to rip his mask off - to get a half-decent breath and see the world outside of a white screen…

But he was frozen.

Unmoving but caring all too much yet not at all.

Unmoving like the cold body laying in front of him.

He didn't mean to do it, but he did it.

He did it and he can't take it back

Spider-Man, Peter Parker, had just killed a living, breathing person.

Peter thought he'd feel justice. He assumed that he would be able to close a long, painful chapter in his life, yet the exact opposite was happening. In that moment, it didn't matter to Peter whether or not this man was a murderer. His reasoning behind playing the part of judge jury, and executioner didn't even settle in his thoughts as he staggered backwards, catching himself on a rusted dumpster near the front of an alleyway. The open, lifeless eyes and stream of blood flowing into a light red puddle underneath the man as the rain attempts to wash away Peter's sins is burned into his eyes.

When peter blinks, he sees the eyes of his uncle Ben, the eyes of the man that was killed by the person that Peter had just killed.

But when he opened his eyes, he finds that death still surrounds him.

The gratification, the justice in which Peter had pictured himself feeling at the capture of this man had turned into anguish and regret.

He hadn't necessarily meant to… But he did it.

He killed him.

The thing that managed to snatch Peter from his hazy stupor was not the sound of a siren, the sound of a scream, or the sound of a gunshot - no, none of those…

It was the simple, soft shutter of a camera lens.

Snapping his head up towards the direction in which the sound came from, Peter found that there were four - no… five? Six…?

Peter found that there was a small crowd forming across the now-quiet street.

Could Peter have snatched that camera, the phones, the proof away from the stunned spectators?

Yes.

Did Peter realize that he could save the image of New York's precious Spider-Man and leave only a tall tale to tell by the group there that night?

Yes.

But he didn't.

He let them watch. He let them record and take pictures. He let them get their proof. 

If he were to be honest, Peter would say that he isn't feeling the way he is because of one simple man that he killed, no, it was just the catalyst. Everything had begun to be too much. In truth Peter didn't even know if people would be angry or not at his actions that had just transpired. But he didn't care. he didn't want this anymore,any of it. This whole life, everything leading up to this moment, was too much.

It had moved on from simply being the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Every night, all Peter could see was the faces of the people that he couldn't save or couldn't reunite with their families. The ears. The agony. His own loss and grief. Peter didn't know what it was like to be able to truly process anything, but he was quickly learning what happens when you don't. What happens when everything gets to be so heavy that it just breaks. 

All Peter wanted was to be in the position of the dead man on the ground.

Peter didn't recognize himself anymore, and he just wanted to be over.

He knew what he had to do.

Taking one last glance at the lifeless form laying still as stone on the glossy pavement, Peter adjusted his sight upward and gave one last swing across the city, across his city, and said one final goodbye.

After retrieving a minimal amount of belongings, and leaving the hardest letter he'd ever have to write for his aunt, May, Peter did what he had to do.

He left.

He left for himself. He left for his family, for his friends, and for it to all be over. The months, the years of beatings, sleepless nights, abductions and relocation's, missions, and so on were over. Peter couldn't do it anymore. Tonight was it.

He didn't know where he was gonna go, but with his alter ego shoved in the front pocket of his stuffed bag, he caught every bus, every train, every taxi that he could afford. It wasn't much by any means at all, but it was out of Queens, and that was all Peter wanted. He was dangerous, the following days newspapers and TV broadcasts said so, and Peter knew that he had to get at least some distance between himself and those he held closest.

He had to leave, and leave he did…


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!! Just wanted to drop in and say I truly hope that you guys are enjoying the fic - I know it's just getting started but still I really hope you enjoy. This is my second fic ever so I'm still getting the hang of it, but I really, really hope you like it... Thanks so much for reading!!
> 
> TW: Suicidal tendencies/suicide

"I'm just sayin', YN, you know I've got the room. I think you and Alex would make quite the nice pair of… roomies, hmm?"

You give a humor-filled scoff and your friend, Alex, flips a not-so-sarcastic sarcastic "fuck you" to the red and black clad buddy that you've somehow unwillingly, yet gratefully, acquired.

Your days following HYDRA had been anything but easy - but you weren't the kind of person to simply lay down and die. Literally.

Not only had you managed to free yourself from the imprisonment of a never ending life-sentence as some foreign army's personal test subject, you'd discovered exactly what it was that made you so damn special. You had the power of manipulation - the power of control. Whether it be emotions, matter, life itself, or the body-sized black wings that you could expose or tuck away at any given time, you finally were able to be the one in control.

There was only one side effect:

You couldn't stay dead.

Whenever you would die, you would come back within a matter of minutes, and you've had more than a fair share of time to test that fact. You'd been low after escaping the taught hold of your previous prison; after all, who wouldn't have been? You never truly remembered a time where you had anything, but now you were all on your own. Simply some freak with giant wings who was brand new to her powers - which meant you couldn't control the fact that you could control everything…

And you couldn't handle it.

You did everything you could.

Pills.

Asphyxiation.

Slicing and Dicing yourself until you couldn't move.

Throwing yourself off from any height you could find.

You basically gave Wade Wilson himself a run for his money, and unsurprisingly found that nothing ever worked.

You'd always wake up again, gasping for breath and remembering simply closing your eyes, praying they wouldn't ever open again. But they always did.

It was during one of your famous drowning attempts that you'd met a girl named Alex.

You were standing on the edge of some bridge, no cars passing, no life in sight; just the sound of rushing water beneath your swaying form. All alone, enjoying the quiet serenity and brief peace that was brought to you… Until you heard her. Some chick, bounding towards you and stopping a good thirty or so feet away, screaming out to you, desperately trying to get your attention. You remember her dark features illuminated under the soft light of the street lamp. You remember her standing at a far enough distance yet she was still all too close. You remember the panic in her troubled eyes and the way the wind tussled and whipped around her shoulder length curly black hair as she held her worn jacket close to her body in an attempt to shield herself from the nipping breeze.

And you distinctly remembered telling her to stay away. 

You had told her to stay back,

_"You need to leave."_

_"I can't do that…"_

_"Forget you ever saw this and Just_ _go!"_

That you hadn't wanted to hurt her like you hurt everybody else,

_"You don't know what I've done!"_

_"It doesn't matter!_

_"Yes it does! And if you don't back the fuck up, turn around, and get the hell out of here, then you're just gonna be another victim of me!"_

But did she listen?

Fuck no.

So you didn't listen to her telling you to back away and rethink whatever problem it was that you were facing.

You slightly believed her when she said that you could get through this, but only because you knew, deep down, that you'd live. But you were just done with the conversation.

So you did what you'd grown to do best and simply just left…

You jumped.

Feet leaving the pavement as the harsh cold graced your face, and the sensation of tranquility, of freedom coursed through your body.

You felt the smack of the water and a moment of old, but then nothing.

Until you felt everything again.

You jolted awake, spewing water from your lips as you felt the rhythmic pounding on your chest come to a sudden halt. 

Alex.

That stupid, idiotic badass had climbed down and catapulted herself into freezing water to save your ass that didn't even need saving.

From that day on you knew you weren't getting rid of her anytime soon, and you'd grown to be beyond grateful for that.

Since the nearly five years that you'd been introduced into each-others lives, you'd learned a lot about one another. You'd learned what made each-other tick, what made each-other happy, mad, sad, and all of the in-between's, and you'd learned each-others secrets. You'd learned everything about what went into making you guys the people that you are now. She knew what you were, and you knew that she was an underestimated genius that could give the best of the best a run for their money - even if she did do some stupid shit now and then. 

And you'd also learned that people suck.

You have a small group of close-knit friends that you considered to be more like a family than anything else.

You have a place to lay your head and the best roommate and friend that you could ever ask for.

And you'd also discovered that you do indeed have a purpose. You still struggled with the belief that you're just some freak - some strange phenomenon that doesn't deserve to see the light of day after doing what you've done and being capable of doing the things that you can do, but that's where your new found family came in. Always there to pick you up and dust you off during the worst of times, as you had learned to do for them as well.

You were set.

"Well that's very sweet of you, Wade," Said Alex, bringing you back to the present conversation; "But I think we're quite set here. Nobody to bother us, nobody to try and get me to hack into all the extra channels on their TV, nobody to relentlessly be shot down time after time by YN…"

Wade gasped in mock offense at the painfully hilarious rejection from Alex.

You'd be lying if you said moving in with Wade didn't appeal to you, but you hated to take. And, while you knew you could trust him with your life, and that he would never ask anything for crashing at his place, the "Friendly Neighborhood Deadpool" was fun to watch when he was determined and constantly rejected.

And, besides that, you were content. All you wanted was a place to crash with your most trusted friend, and to be able to fulfill your purpose. To be able to do good with the hand that you've been dealt.

And you had that. 

Was it some random, abandoned government-owned home?

Yes.

But was it just you and Alex?

Yes.

And though you wouldn't mind having a third roomie, you knew that Alex and Wade would probably kill each-other if they didn't have at least a nightly break. And you were comfortable. You'd never ask for anything other than livable, and you'd never ask anyone to inconvenience themselves for your pleasure. 

It just wasn't you.

"How dare you?" Wade gasped, hands against his cheeks as he feigned disgrace.

You and Alex can't to anything aside from burst out in laughter as Wade simply stood up and shook his head.

"Alright, alright you two. You've won this round. But don't pretend like I'm stupid, I know why you two want your own place… And just remember, I'm more than okay with bringing the party back to my place. Last thing I'd mind is joining in with Steph and Lena."

Wade returns the friendly fire and is simply met with a chorus of "Piss off, Wade" and "Fuck you, Pool" as he makes his was out of the run down home.

"I'm just sayin'," he says behind his masked smirk.

"But seriously, you need anything, you call. Got it, missies?" He questions.

As annoying as he was persistent, Wade truly does care and was always going to be there for both you and Alex. You knew that you'd not only gained a sister, but an overly-nosey and annoying protective older brother. The night you'd met Wade was just as intense as the night you'd met Alex.

It was roughly two years ago after a late-night mission had gone south for you that the red spandex wearing vigilante had caught the tail end of your fight with a neighborhood trouble maker that did a little more than steal a candy bar here and there.

You'd heard and seen evidence of this particular asshole dealing around in the matter of underground drug cartel operations, and you'd finally gotten a hold of his whereabouts.

You knew it was stupid and risky, but he'd slipped from your grasp before and you couldn't let that happen again.

You'd been working with a "team" - that team consisting of yourself, a blind badass who went by the alias of "Daredevil" as opposed to his day name of Matthew, and some tough guy named Frank with a vengeance and skillset that you never wanted to find yourself on the wrong end of. His given name of "The Punisher" was there for a reason after all…

At the time, you were just working with them to simply get the case over with, but little did you know that those two gents would quickly become a special part of your tight-knit, dysfunctional family.

But they were lagging, and you were ready; just not as ready as you thought.

It had been a couple of years ago, and you still hadn't mastered your technique yet, and not much has really changed, you've just gained a lot of practice and experience since then.

You'd managed to off the crook, but you'd taken a hell of a beating at the same time. And, while you couldn't technically die, it still hurt like a bitch.

That's where the red-suited anti-hero named Wade Wilson, or "Deadpool", came into the picture.

Apparently the asshole you'd dispatched was on more than just one or two hitlists.

Wade had been hot on his tail, but managed to stumble across a beaten and bruised chick with wings, and the lifeless form of the prick he was targeting.

It was when Wade was scolding you about your techniques and making his classic witty remarks while carrying you home as you bled out in his arms that you knew you'd gained another accomplice... 

And you were all the more grateful for him in the long run.

"We know, Wade. Thank you." You smile, giving him a small nod.

"Yeah, now get lost and go make a difference. Don't die too much." Alex sasses.

"Wouldn't make a difference!" Wade returns as he tries (and fails) to make a graceful and "cool" exit. He's never gonna learn that he's really better off walking away instead of trying some new trick that he swears he can master after watching one of those fail compilation videos. 

He never masters it.

Ever.

"God, will he ever learn." Alex scoffs, tossing her head back and exasperatedly throwing her left arm over her face - her right one laying next to her, hand gently clasped around the neck of a bottle.

"Must you ask," you smile, "At this point I think your answer is pretty well clear."

The two of you share a laugh and Alex takes a short swig.

"Well," she says as she tosses the bottle outside of the half-way boarded up window in the run down living room;

"It's getting pretty late. I think I'm gonna head to bed. You gonna go do your thing?"

You take a moment to ponder before giving an affirming nod.

"Yeah, I'll go patrol for a bit. Check some things out, make sure nothing too crazy is going down tonight." You sigh, groaning as you pull yourself up off of your dingy pallet on the hard cement floor.

"It's Hell's Kitchen, Y/N. Crazy is a side effect here." Alex's scoffs as she cleans up her sleeping area a bit - dusting off the blankets and fluffing her pillow as much as possible before taking a seat on top of the freshly-made little nest atop a mattress stationed against the corner of the living room.

"I can't correct you there."

A sigh escapes your lips as you pull off your plain white, short sleeved V-neck, and slip on a long sleeved black one instead; followed by a zipped up olive cargo jacket and black knee high lace-up boots.

"That's cuz' I'm always correct." Alex retorts, a smirk painting her features bright.

"Yeah, yeah. Be home later. Stay safe and don't wait up." You smile, bidding Alex goodnight as you slip your phone into one of the zippers of your jacket and slide out the front door.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Alex smiles as she switches off the lantern sitting in-between your pallets, her glowing dark brown skin no longer illuminated by the soft yellow light. Tying her hair into the most perfected messy bun New York has ever seen, she wiggles herself in between the scratchy yet comforting blankets. Bidding you a silent goodnight, she whispers a quick prayer for protection and a safe night for the both of you before shutting her eyes and drifting to sleep after about half an hour of tossing and turning.


	4. Chapter 4

Firmly shutting and locking the door behind you, you take a quick glance around your surroundings to affirm yours and Alex's security before making your "nightly route".

You start on your way, calmly strolling through the three blocks and two alleyways it takes to get your favorite little 24 hour coffee house, pulling your jacket a bit closer to your body as the chill of night encircles you.

You've become a good acquaintance of a lovely older couple, named Donnie and Barbra, who run the shop, and they know a little about your living situation. And, while you try to deny their generosity, they always insist on giving you and Alex a little something.

Tonight, being no different, you make your way from the store with a to-go order of Donnie's homemade apple fritters, a bottle of water, and a couple of doughnuts. This being the only food you'd gotten all day.

They were too good to you.

With a quick hug and wave goodbye, you make your way outside and begin walking towards the usual meet-up spot of your little group of vigilante friends. However, you only get about a block away before Miko, the local stray cat, slinks his way from outside of a darkened alley, and prowls your way.

"Hey Miko," you coo, eliciting a scratchy meow in response from the roughened tabby.

"You hungry?" You ask, crouching down to give him a quick pet as he head-buts your leg and rubs his body along your pants - leaving evidence of his presence behind in the form of a light coat of shedded fur.

Giving a quiet yet humor filled sigh, you gently tear off and place about three fourths of your apple fritter down for him as he goes to town. Little grunts and intakes of air are distinctly heard as he devours his dinner.

"You enjoy, Miko. Stay safe, handsome," You smile as you pop the remainder of the dessert in your mouth, and continue on your way to the well-placed apartment building. Opening up your bag of doughnuts and eating a few bites of the first one, you see a familiar looking homeless man resting on a bus bench about thirty feet away.

Without a second thought, you jog over to him and offer him your second doughnut. You apologize that there was only one left, but he's so delighted to receive anything that he doesn't care. Leaving him with his snack and the unopened bottle of water, you offer up a small smile and continue on.

Don and Barbra had always told you hat they were happy to help as long as it was for good, and you knew they'd have no problem with you using their gifts to bless others less fortunate than you. They'd taught you quite a few things in your years of living in Queens, and humbleness and gratitude were definitely two of the main things.

Approaching the run down but fully occupied building, you slide your way to the fire escape and climb the seemigly-endless flights of stairs leading to the roof.

When you finally reach the top, you inhale a deep breath, exhaling as you take in the city skyline surrounding you.

You'd seen it countless times, yes, but you appreciate it every single one. You saw lights, buildings, ocean, and, most importantly, life.

Life that you knew you had to protect.

  
Still waiting for your friends arrival, you saunter over to the side of the building, grabbing onto the railing as you perch yourself on top of it and decide to release your wings.

It was a bit of a painful process, forcing them from the strengthened yet sensitive muscles of your back and out of your skin between your shoulder blades, so you preferred to do it when nobody was around.

You took of your jacket and exposed your tailored black V-neck that you had sliced slits into with the idea of your wings in mind. Focusing your thoughts and redirecting your energy, you slowly force the black, angel/raven type wings from your body, giving a few whimpers of pain as you pull them through your skin.

When it was all done, you take in a shaky breath and wipe the sweat from your brow, swallowing down the taste of copper in your mouth from biting your lip a bit too hard. Fixing your sight on the city before you, you focus on healing yourself; relaxing your muscles and closing up your aggravated skin, relishing in the sensation of finally being able to unclench your teeth as everything settled back into place.

"About time you showed up," a familiar voice spoke, startling you out of your daze. Jumping a little at the scare, you feel a strong hand grab hold of your upper arm at the same time you ready your wings to fly if necessary.

Looking up, you're met with none other than Frank Castle and Matthew Murdock themselves.

About time.

"Geez, Red," Frank chastises, "You're gonna end up killin' somebody if you keep sneaking up on people like that.

Giving a sigh of relief, you're back on the solid rooftop, feet steady on the sturdy ground. You can't help but give into laughter as you hear Matt muffle out a response of "Already have," causing everyone to crack a smile at the slightest.

"So," Matt continues, "How's your night been so far?"

"Ah you know, same old same old." Kicking a pebble and watching it bounce off into the abyss of grey, you begin your trek towards the other side of the building.

"I stopped by that coffee shop that I always -"

"The one with the homemade apple fritters and fresh brewed coffee twenty four seven?" Matt interrupts.

"Brink of Don, Yep, that's the one."

You smile, briefly turning around to acknowledge his question and note that him and Frank are keeping up with you.

"Anyways, afterwards I found that stray cat, fed it some apple fritter -"

"Of course you did." Frank smiles, looking off towards the skyline as he tries to hide the smirk clearly evident in his voice."

Giving a quiet laugh and shake of your head, you continue.

"Then I checked out the local alleys. Nothing. Made sure no wannabe heroes were getting pumbled in a parking lot. They weren't. And then, finally, I made my way here. Oh! And Wade sends his love, saw him tonight."

Upon hearing the name, a genuine groan of annoyance is heard from Frank, while Matt just sighs and shakes his head, folding his arms like some sort of disappointed parent.

"Yeah, 'course he does." Frank sighed, knowing that while both he and Murdock aren't the best of friends with the undying vigilante, they wouldn't dare try and get you to stay away from him. They'd suggested it early on, but now they were at the point that they saw that yes, Deadpool has his qualms, he's not the worst influence for you to be around. In fact, they were almost hoping for you to rub off on him… They were still trying to figure out if that's actually worked or not.

You can just never tell with that guy…

"Well, sounds like you've had quite the night then," the unseeing yet all sarcastic Daredevil snides, purely joking.

"Oh haven't I ever." You smile, reaching the railing of the edge of the building and taking a look at the vacant looking warehouse a few buildings down.

"You guys ready to do this tonight? I know it's been a lot of talk, but I think we've got what we need." You ask, looking back at your partners.

This operation has been in the works for months. Apparently this deserted building isn't so deserted at all.

Drug cartels, money laundering, human, weapon, and drug trafficking - you name it you'll find it in there.

And it was time to do something about it.

"Yeah I think so," replies Frank, followed by an affirming nod from the masked Murdock.

"You positive you wanna do this tonight? It's a lot." The question was meant as an out - none of you ever wanted the other to feel unready going into things, but sometimes that was what it took. You were and are never really safe, not being who you guys are. And, those bad people that you take out, they make other people unsafe as well. So may as well do something about it whenever opportunity arises because if you wait until you feel one hundred percent ready, nothing would ever get done.

"Positive." You affirm, rolling your neck and stretching out your wings before looking back towards the warehouse.

"Alright then," Frank speaks, loading his gun and readying his weapons;

"Let's do this."

Placing your hands on the cold, metal bar of the building's barrier, you jump up and place your feet on as well.

"YN…" You hear Matt warn as your mouth turns up into a smirk.

"Meet ya there, slowpokes," you smile, falling off the building with your arms open wide, feeling the bitter cold slap against your face as you plummet down, down, down - until you stop. Your wings, spread out and gently flapping, steadily holding you up off the ground before you made your silent flight to the warehouse.

"Where can I get me a pair of those…" Frank mutters, glancing down at where you had just disappeared to.

"The same place I can get a new pair of eyes." Matt retorted, desperately trying to keep his laughter from bursting out at Franks stunned expression.

"Geez," Frank shook his head, making his way towards the fire escape;

"It's gonna be a long night."


	5. Chapter 5

"Comin' up on your six, YN!" 

"Got it," you affirm with a shout, ducking down as a stone-faced Frank Castle releases round after round into the criminals once standing in front of you. 

As soon as Castle finishes firing off his rounds, you bounce back up as he reloads, catching a glimpse of a red-clad, calculated flipping Daredevil bounding in from overhead. 

Locking your sight on the action ahead of you, you focus your energy on one low life at a time, forcing the life from them and moving on as they crumple one by one onto the unforgiving concrete beneath them. 

Until there are no more. 

Taking a glimpse around the facility, you see equipment that you're sure is meant for processing shipments. 

Boxes, some full and some empty, lie around the musky warehouse. What was once an unknown yet fully operational housing facility for trafficking and dealers now stands stagnant; the odor of blood and gunpowder lacing the air and not a trace of life inside aside from you, Frank, and Matt. Silence has begun to take over, and you fix your sight on your two "colleagues" standing in the aftermath of the evenings previous events. 

"Well… glad that's over with," Castle scoffs, his speech coming out in more of a winded remark. 

"Yeah," Matt chimes in, "About time, too. It's been what, a month of tracking to just get here?" 

"Sounds about right. In all honesty I kinda lost track. Feels like it's been years of trying to get these shitheads here." Frank laughs, still slightly bent over with his hands on his knees, coming down from his adrenaline high. But his face quickly morphs from a slight smile into a more confused expression as he looks your way. 

"I don't get it," he pondered towards you, drawing your focus from the surrounding atmosphere to him. 

"Why don't you just wipe them all out with a wave of your hand or some shit?" 

His question wasn't asked in a malicious or belligerent way, he was merely just curious - as was a winded Matt standing aside him, slightly bent over, leaned against a stack of crates in an attempt to catch his breath. They knew how powerful you were to some extent, and they both realized that you more than likely could be a lot more lethal than you were letting on, so it was a constant running question between the two of them as to what you could truly unleash. 

They'd ask small questions here and there such as: 

"How'd you do that?" 

Or 

"Why didn't you do this?" 

But they'd held off on flat out asking what you were truly capable of. You knew they'd been dying to know, but they'd just been waiting. Either waiting until a better time to ask, or waiting for you to show your true colors yourself. But after the battle tonight, answers were in order. 

"Good question," You admit, glancing down at the bodies laying at your feet. You give the settled dust coating the ground a small kick as you cross your arms. 

"I guess the short answer is that I'm just… afraid." You didn't want to admit it, but there was simply no other way to put it. 

Seeing the confused look from the mask-less hero, and slight downturn of Red's parted lips, you continue. 

"It's not like I've had everything mastered and down to a science for decades. I guess uh, I feel like if I focus on a group, if I put all my energy and thought into wiping out a whole bunch of lives at once, I'm worried that I won't just kill the bad ones. I'm scared I won't be able to control who dies, and I can't risk hurting anyone else around me." 

Taking a seat on a not so sturdy looking crate, you continue: 

" It's easier to fight hand to hand, or even to focus on one or two and wipe them out. I can handle one or two, and I can handle manipulating inanimate objects… But a group of people? I don't know how that would go." 

Your sight is trained down on your dirty boots that are dangling a few inches from the blood stained concrete flooring. You suddenly find the rivets in the toes of your shoes the most interesting thing you've seen all night as you press your lips together in anticipation of what the skilled hero's of Hell's Kitchen will think. 

These guys are pros - they know what they're doing, they trust their instincts, and they do what has to be done. But now they've just found out that you're purposefully limiting yourself. They've just found out how little trust you have in yourself, and how low your skill-set truly lies. 

You're sure that you won't lose them, that they won't simply walk out on you because you aren't doing enough, but the fear of judgement, the single thought of them not wanting to go out on missions with you anymore terrifies you to no end. 

You can feel your lungs not taking in enough air as your throat constricts, and your vision begins to go blurry as your ears take on a muffled layer of audio - as if everything you're hearing is being projected to you from underwater. 

Yet you remain still as stone, your eyes still trained on the dusty toes of your shoes. 

You miss the exchange of almost saddened yet understanding resolve that crosses your friend's features, but through your haze you feel Frank take a seat on the creaking crate that you'd forgotten you were even perched on. You notice his leg just barely come into contact with yours, as if he's not wanting to intrude, but just let you know he's there. 

You notice Matt moves to lean against a stack of old, wood pallets stacked to your side, just a few feet away. They know the signs and sounds of panic, no matter how little you may show them. 

Matt noticed your elevated heart-rate and breathing, while frank took in the cold sweat gathering across your forehead, and the color draining from your face. 

They knew how you felt about touch, loving it sometimes and hating it others, so they kept their distance but still made sure you knew that they weren't going anywhere. 

"It makes sense," Frank speaks lowly, his voice calmed and his breath returned back to normal. 

"You know, I guess sometimes we just forget that you haven't been doing this all your life. That you haven't always been in control. You're just so great at what you do, it's easy to let it slip sometimes." 

Frank's explanation was so genuine, so needed that you didn't know what to do. You were still in the throws of panic, but knowing that they understood pushed a bit of much needed air back into your lungs. 

"Yeah, there's no need to feel bad or like you aren't doing enough. Without you, this place would still be running. Without you, there'd be a hell of a lot more crime, more assholes roaming Hell's Kitchen. You're doing your part and more." 

Matt added on, sincerity dripping from his words as he turns his body towards you, giving you the knowledge that he meant every single thing he said as his full focus shifted to you. 

"Exactly," Frank interjected, voice growing closer and closer to normal as your chocking panic became less and less. 

"More than enough is right. Hell, I may not know everything about you, but knowing what I do about where you've come from, the shit hole that you were kept in, hell… I'd love to personally strip any and all of those HYDRA assholes of the worthless life that they still possess." Frank mumbles the last bit, but knew that you'd catch every bit of it. 

"But I can't," He continues, "Because you already did that." 

Castle finishes with a smile, a smile that spread's to Red's features and even your own face as you look up at Frank and then to the still half-masked hero standing a legs length away from you. 

"You okay?" Matt asks, hearing your heart-rate slow back to a reasonable pace. 

Giving one last glance to the ground, you relish in the sensation of getting an actual breath in and look back up. 

"Yeah," you nod, "I'm good. Thank you." 

You weren't much of a talker, and you weren't one to show emotion to just anyone, but you'd had your fair share of moments in front of your perfectly imperfect makeshift family. They knew all of your quirks, the little things that meant a lot, and the actions taking place of the words left unsaid. 

Your tight lipped smile meant many different things, but in that moment, the smile you sent towards your two fellow heroes meant pure gratitude - and they knew that. 

"Good. Now c'mon," Frank said, his deep, gruff voice now fully functional; 

"Let's get out of here. I think a shower is in order." 

"Kinky," You smirk, watching with joy at the cringe crossing Castle's face as Matt desperately tried to stifle a laugh. 

"God, you're insufferable." Frank sighed, slipping on the strap of his gun, and adjusting it so it stayed in place behind his back. 

"Never stop."

"Never can," You smile, taking your place in front of the group, heading out of the musky warehouse. 

"Never will," Matt sighed, feigning annoyance but was really full of both satisfaction and ease. 

You guys had taken out the baddies, all stayed safe, and had grown significantly closer. 

This night was nothing shy of successful. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I just want to give a huge thank you to everyone who has read this story so far! I really, truly hope that you are enjoying it, and let me know what you think <3 Also, I know that I don't exactly stick to cannon things 1000% (sorry about that), I'm just trying to use the shows, movies, stories, etc that I love and make a creative guide. I hope you're liking it :)

The relentless sounds of ringing phones, shuffling papers, and constant chatter had become white noise to Peter Parker. He'd learned many things thus far by working as an assistant. One of the top tricks instilled in him was how to focus on his lists of tasks and tune out everything that was of at least slight unimportance.

"Peter?"

The voice of his boss catches Peter's attention, causing him to glance up from his stack of files that he's been searching through all morning long.

"Yes sir?" He asks, transferring his full attention to the suit-clad man standing in the doorway of his office space.

"Why don't you take a break, go on a uh, coffee run for us? I've got a list if you're okay with that."

"Yes, sir!" Peter answers eagerly, his brain buzzing at the thought of being able to finally get a breath of fresh air.

Grabbing his coat and retrieving the paper from his boss's hand, he readies himself to head down the block to the office's hotspot for all things breakfast and break related.

"Will that be all, Mr. Murdock?" Peter asks, making sure he's all set before he leaves.

"Yeah, as far as I know," Matt responds, moving so he's out of Peter's way.

"Karen wrote everything down, so if there's anything missing just be sure to take it up with her." Matt finishes, giving the young assistant a smile as he begins to head towards his office.

After a final check, Peter heads out of the cramped yet functional space. Business had picked up fairly recently after his boss had a big case with some "King-Pin" guy, better known as Wilson Fisk, and it hadn't slowed since.

That was a while ago. There was talk between he group about finding a bigger space, but with all of the hustle and bustle as of recent there hadn't really been much time to office hunt.

While Peter may be out of the active duty superhero game, he's still in the loop of knowledge while also flying under the radar.

Spider-Man was no more. His reputation long gone, buried under the dirt of the in-factual speculation of the public and false tales of the media. Peter Parker, on the other hand, was alive and pretty well. Working for a successful law firm commonly known as "Nelson and Murdock Law Firm," Peter has a good group of people that he's grown close to. People that are closer than he may realize…

Peter covers his tracks more than well, but working for Matthew Murdock, grade A lawyer by day and crime-fighting vigilante by night, means that you're working for someone who knows their shit. And, while Peter may not realize that his boss doubles as Hell's Kitchen's famous "Daredevil," he does know that he always has to keep appearances up; double checking lies that he may have used in the past to make sure what he's saying now adds up, or even hiding from people who knew of his double life in the past.

People such as Tony Stark.

Peter is certain that the tech-savvy, brilliant Iron Man has to know where he is, but the fact that Mr. Stark hasn't shown up yet is the only reason why Peter would doubt that theory. It's been years since Peter dropped off of the radar, but the memories of times spent in Tony's lab, or the countless hours spent trying to build a "Lego Death Star" with his best friend, or trying some new recipe that Aunt May had come up with were still painful to think about.

It felt as if all of that had happened just yesterday.

Guilt ate away at Peter every day for just up and leaving the ones who he loved most - the ones that loved him most - but, anytime he would think of that, he would see the dead eyes of the man who he had killed, along with everyone he had failed to save. He was reminded of nights spend screaming and sobbing, wanting all the hurt to go away. He was reminded of sleepless nights and days that would seemingly run together for weeks at a time. Every time his mind went to that, he was reminded of why he left, and he was always left to contemplate which memory he felt guiltiest for. Peter was 21 now, and all that seemed to plague his mind when he wasn't neck-deep in paperwork or fixing the ever-jamming copy machine was wondering what all he had missed since he'd left.

Hearing the cheerful chime of the coffee shops bell, Peter is drawn back to the present as he's greeted with a wide smile and happy hello from one of the store's owners, Barbra.

"Good morning, Peter!" She calls from behind the counter, busy kneading some dough while Don emerges from the back of the shop, a white apron tied on, to-go boxes in one hand and coffee cups in another.

Apparently today's been busy for everyone so far.

"Morning, Barbra! Morning, Don!" Exclaims a smiling Peter as he gets in line behind a distracted patron, glancing at something on their phone before being called to have their order taken by Don.

Taking a look around the homey shop, Peter sees a few familiar faces but mostly new people lounging about on the couches and chairs set up. Some people are playing board games, others reading, and others either talking or messing with some sort of device.

Reaching the counter to place his order, he tells Don the usual items from the list, making sure to get Karen's, Foggy's, Matt's, and his own order out slow and clear. With a quick smile and thanks from the overworked, underpaid, yet perfectly content owner, Peter steps to the side to carry on some idle chit chat with Barbra while she works on throwing together some pastries and he waits for his order to be filled.

"Peter," Barbra voices, not even looking up from her task as she calls out his name melodically, almost as if speaking to a child who was doing something that they know is wrong.

"Barbra," Peter chides, a smirk on his face as he returns the tone. The smile left his face as quick as it appeared though, as soon as he received a side eye from the stressed woman.

"You look tired." She examines, taking a moment to study his face and meet his bright yet sunken eyes.

"So do you." Peter chastises. They share a pause and knowing look that says "pull the plank out of your own eye before worrying about the splinter in mine," before both break into a grin.

She gives Peter a quick whip of a hand towel.

"Take care of yourself, hunny."

"You do the same, Mrs. Barbra."

"Peter!" Calls Don from the pick-up section a little off to the side.

"That's me!" Peter playfully quips back, eliciting a wide smile from Don, and a small chuckle from Barbra.

"have a good day, kid," Don says, his studious brown eyes peeking over the rim of his glasses as he watches Peter collect his order, plus a free bag of goodies - which Peter makes sure to thank them for.

"You take it easy now," he finishes, playfully scolding the bustling boy while making his way back towards the register.

"Thank you, Mr. Don! And same to you," Peter calls out, throwing up his hand that’s only holding the bag of free treats.

Receiving a wave from the couple, Peter uses his back to open the glass door of the shop, and does a spin outside - but it was just a tad too quick, and Peter was just a tad too focused on the items in hand that he didn't even catch a glimpse of the person who was just about to make their way inside the shop.

Until he covered them in scalding hot coffee…

It was as if it was in slow motion - Peter saw the body connect with his own, he witnessed the steaming beverage pour onto the covered skin of said body, and he heard the yelp of pain cross their lips as the heat registered and both them and Peter fell to the concrete sidewalk.

"Oh my God," cried Peter, "Are you alright? I am so, so sorry! I totally wasn't looking a-and I just, I didn't even… I - I'm sorry." Peter rambles, not yet seeing the down-cast face of the girl he had just knocked down and, more than likely, literally burned. Grabbing the spare napkins inside one of the to-go bags, he immediately offers them to her and tries to help her clean up as best he can without making the situation impossibly worse than it already is.

"It's alright," she responds, her bright eyes now meeting his as he's able to see her in all. She looks friendly, yet troubled. Like someone you'd want to be friends with and never be on the wrong side of. Peter thinks she looks familiar, but can't quite place where he's seen her before. Perhaps she's a usual and he's passed by her in the shop before.

Feeling her gratefully take the napkins, he listens as she continues;

"I wasn't looking either, really. Not your fault, just an accident." She admits, glancing down at her coffee-covered clothes.

The familiar feeling of guilt creeps up peter's throat and begins to choke him. How can he make this better?

"Did you get burned? Do you need to go to the hospital?" Peter checks, receiving a gracious smile and laugh, followed by a shake of the young girl's head. 

"No, no, thank you but I'm alright," she affirms, "I am grateful for the offer, though. Are you okay? Did you need to get another coffee?" She asks as she gets herself off the ground, brushing bits of dirt from her pants.

Peter can't help but let out a laugh at her sarcasm. He could tell it wasn't coming from a malicious place, but rather to lighten the mood; and for that Peter was grateful.

"No, that's alright," he confirms, doing exactly what she had just done by giving her a wide smile and shake of his head.

"Thank you, though. I uh, I'm sorry about your clothes," Peter mentions, now fully noticing that her once grey cardigan is not stained with splotches of brown.

"Oh, it's honestly not a problem."

"Well, if it's okay with you," Peter mumbles, reaching into his backpack and rummaging around until he finds what he needs;

"I'd like to make at least that up to you. I don't have any cash on me at the moment, but please, please give me a call as soon as you'd like, ad let me at least get that taken care of. It truly is the lease I can do." Peter is practically begging her to let him make this right, so, with just a bit of hesitation, the girl takes the notebook paper from him, and finds a phone number written across it.

Not knowing what to say or do, she gives a confirming nod. "Okay. Thank you."

"You're welcome," responds Peter, happy that she finally accepted a happy compromise.

"My name's Peter by the way," he informs, immediately holding out his hand, still sitting in the middle of the sidewalk with this girl he didn't even know, yet not giving a single care in the world. He was happy to meet someone so real for a change.

"Nice to meet you, Peter," responds the girl, extending her arm until her right hand connects with his, giving it a firm shake.

"I'm Alex."


	7. Chapter 7

"I'm telling you, you'll never even know I'm there! I'll be practically invisible"

"Yeah well I know a perfect solution to make you A, completely invisible, and B, to make sure we never know you're there."

The meaningless banter between Wade and Alex is truly never-ending.

"Ooh, do please tell how you can ultimately get rid of me, the person who cannot be ended, hmmmmm?"

Wade is laying stomach down atop his counters, legs up in the air with ankles crossed and hands folded under his chin as his leather clad face is most likely batting it's eyes and putting on a look of intrigued innocence; eyes not leaving Alex as she chops an onion.

"Oh, I don't even have to tell you, I can just -"

"Alright you two, that's enough for one hour," Frank drones as he and Matt make their way inside the residence.

"Well, well, well, to what do I owe the honor of having goth and gother in my place of living?" Questions Wade, hopping down from his spot and making his way over to the living room, plopping down on the sofa, kicking his feet up on one side and head on the other.

With a sigh and some threatening mumble from frank, and a smirk from Matt, "Goth" humors Wade with the short and informative answer of: "We've got a mission."

"Got it, batsy."

"Jesus."

"Where is it?"

"Docks. Got some cartel and hi-tech weapon dealers to check out. Where's Y/N?" Says Frank as he makes his way across the living room, swatting Wade's feet so he can sit while he gives his weaponry a once over.

"She was grabbing some groceries, should be back s-"

"Hey! Woah - full house." You say, making your way into the small, and tightly packed, home; definitely not expecting to have an awaiting audience.

"Now." Finishes Alex with a smirk as she continues washing lettuce.

"What's happening? This isn't some intervention or anything, is it?" You ask, plopping an armful of cloth grocery bags onto the counter and shaking off the other plastic contraptions entangled around your wrists.

"No,"

"Course not-"

"Got something to HIDE little miss?"

Red and Castle turn their attention to Wade and then you, pausing before giving a scoff or shake of the head.

"They've got a mission-"

"We've got a mission!"

"Down at the docks, thank you, by the way, Wade, for your helpful input." Alex chastises.

"Some baddie druggies and weapon dealers. They need your help. Be back for dinner."

The answer brings a smile to your face as Alex resumes preparing the tacos, not even looking up from her task. She understands full well there's no sense in worrying. You've done far more dangerous missions in far more dangerous circumstances by the sounds of it, and the amount of trust she has in her team is truly remarkable.

"Absolutely," you smirk, throwing your mission bag over your shoulder and heading back to the door, followed by Matt and Castle.

"I'll see you in a few. Wade, you comin' or what?" You throw over your shoulder as you head out, ready to get this done and over-with so you could get back home to your tacos and a shower.

"COMING SWEET CH-"

"Go ahead and finish that sentence, Wade, I dare you." Alex interrupts, bringing a smile from Red, a laugh from you, a hidden smirk from Castle and a gasp from Wade.

"Alright you guys, let's get to work."

"Awh you're never any fun, batsy."

"Wade, for the hundredth time, I am not -"

"A bat, I know, wrong universe."

"What?"

"What?"

By this point in Matt and Wade's banter, you've already gotten to the car and are getting the run down from Frank about what the mission entails. However, you can't help but crack up at the two of them.

"So, a little more intense of a mission, huh?" You ask, fastening your seatbelt and making sure your boots are zipped and you're ready as can be.

"Yeah," Frank affirms, "That's one way to put it. These people, well, they ain't exactly people. Some have been made into mutants, some are just people with more weapons than they know what to do with. There ain't gonna be a lot of 'em, but they'll be protected and ready to defend themselves. Also, careful to avoid any crates. The reason why we're catchin' them at the docks is because half of 'em are droppin' supplies and the other half is picking it up. You sure you're game for this?"

You take a second, pausing your task of rolling up the cuffs of your jacket, to look up at Frank. Shooting him a sideways glance, you give a smirk.

"As I'll ever be."

Frank sighs but smiles at your response, roughing up your hair playfully.

"Hey! I called shotgun!" Wade complains, dramatically throwing his hands up to his sides as he looks around at the audacity of you sitting in the front. Meanwhile, Matt just smiles and shakes his head, getting in the other side of the back.

"I heard no such thing." You respond, a sly smile creeping across your face as Wade grumbles his way into the backseat.

"Ridiculous is what this is."

"Wade…"

"Kids these days, no respect!"

"I'm an adult, Wade."

"Okay you two, that would be enough."

The friendly animosity between you and the red clad anti-hero is cut short by the two real adults in the car.

"Fine."

"He started it."

"God, this is gonna be a long day," Matt sighs, stretching and doing a quick once over of any loose laces or unearthed weapons.

"Can ya drive any faster? I'm dying back here!"

"Wade, I assure you, I am driving as best and fast I can."

"Yeah, well you're sure as Hell no Vin Diesel. I wonder how Groot is doing…" Wade trails off.

"What?"

"What?"

You can't help but laugh. The four of you have such vastly different personalities, yet you mesh so well together. It's honestly a miracle none of you have killed another yet. That could very well be because Wade physically cannot die, considering how he'd most likely be the first on the chopping block.

Either way, the humor is a welcomed distraction as you head off into God knows what.


	8. Chapter 8

**_"One Batch"_ **

_"Red, just shoot the sons of bitches already! We don't have time for this shit!"_

_Frank…_

_Check…_

**_Two Batch"_ **

_"Ah fuck, just leave it to me - I've got this shit, just not for long!"_

_Wilson…_

_Check…_

**_"Penny"_ **

_"Y/N? Y/N!"_

_Matt…_

_Check…_

…

**_"And Dime"_ **

Blood. Everywhere you look. So much red.

You remember the hit - some mutant had been able to slip past you while you were supposed to be holding post and keeping fire away from the crates holding weaponry. They were like a chameleon, literally blending into the shadows and setting off one of the detonators before anybody even knew they were there.

You don't know how long you've been down, but you know you need to get up.

Staggering to your feet, your vision still blurred, you grasp a hold of something that feels like charred wood to your right. Leaving over, catching your breath and grabbing your side, you lift your head up and attempt to wipe some of the crimson from your vision.

Before you can even take in a proper breath, the wind is forced from you as you feel a hard hit rattle against your spine. Back slamming against the floor as your legs are swept from underneath you, your vision shakes into focus just long enough to catch a glimpse of the assailant wreaking havoc on your body.

The moment your eyes meet theirs, you freeze.

They’re you.

A slap against your face and a knee to your ribcage makes you scream out. You take one hit after another, each time you’re able to open your eyes the slightest bit you see something different.

You see yourself.

You see Frank.

You see Matt.

You see Alex.

Over and over, you’re met with punches and blows delivered by people that you cannot force yourself to hit back.

You take it in, you do everything you possibly can to block out the pain and focus on your body. Focus on your senses. Focus on your skills.

You breathe in, capturing as much air, as much energy, as much power as you possibly can, and let your mind do the work.

Your eyes fly open with a scream followed from your lips. The mutant once atop you is no more, and your wings are spread full force as your health begins to rejuvenate.

The pain subsiding.

Your lungs filling back up with air.

And everything shifting into focus.

You shake your head and give a good look at the destruction around.

You look up to see Matt on a platform, fighting a small group and putting them all on their asses.

You look over to see Frank posted and covered, able to take out anyone within his line of sight.

You look around to see Wade… nowhere…

“AHAHAHAHAHAH!!! You’re about to be killed by a fucking forklift you dickless pricks!”

Found him.

Now that everyone is accounted for, and seeing as to how they’re more than holding their own, you quickly fly yourself up to a tall stack of crates, feeling the energy inside to assure nothing is going to explode or malfunction if it’s hit or crushed. Landing atop, you fully survey the room.

About a dozen and a half more visible targets and a whole lot of blood everywhere.

You still and focus in on one person at a time. By doing so, you’re able to get a sense of their body, of their energy, and force it from them.

The first is a male, human, and his stature is tall, lean, features are blue eyes, blonde hair, and he’s mid-twenties. You can’t even see his face but you already know that and more.

It’s always difficult, no matter how many times you do it. Killing people, that is. Of course, there are some harder than others, but with your abilities unless you use a weapon, you end up having to get personal.

You hone in, pushing past the sorrow.

You see him stop as you reach out your arm, hand opening, practically beckoning his life to force itself out of him.

_“Eric! Fall in!”_

His memories begin to fill your mind. It happens nearly everytime and it doesn’t make things any easier.

He falls to the floor, eyes rolling back and mouth opening.

_“Grenade! Get down!”_

A soldier.

A cloud of black smoke falls from his lips, entangling its way down his body as if saying goodbye to it’s vessel.

_“We can make your life have meaning. You can regain your purpose.”_

HYDRA…

You stretch out your arm and demand the energy come to you. You watch as it shoots through the air and straight into your hand, traveling up your arms, finding your neck, and resting between your shoulder blades at the base of your wings.

Next target.

Over and over again, life after life is disintegrated and bodies are lining the floor.

You hear a few more grunts coming from Red and whoever it is he’s still grappling with. Until the sound of a gunshot ends the ruckus.

“Damn you, Castle,” Matt breathes, hunched over in an attempt to reclaim his breath, “I almost had him.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You almost had him on his ass just so I would have to come over and finish the job. So I cut in early, what of it.” Frank finishes dismissively, reloading his weapon and not even looking up.

Here it goes…

It isn’t uncommon for Wade and Matt to get into it on their views of morality. Murdock had loosened up a bit as of late with the more intense cases, and sometimes it wasn’t even the fact that Frank wanted to kill somebody that would set him off. Sometimes it was just when things got to be too much. Matt usually sat back and did his thing while Frank, you, and Wilson did yours; but, when times were getting tense and Matt was at a short end, it was common that an argument would flare up.

“You don’t know that.” Matt fought back, hands now on his hips as he stood standing up with his stomach slightly protruding, still catching his breath.

“Oh, don’t I? Taking a look to your left I can clearly see the same son of a bitch that you K.O’ed the last time you were out with us. Don’t you get it? It’s all the same! They won't stop unless we make them stop.” Frank yells, putting a bullet in the very person he was just discussing, assuring that he never as a chance to wake from the beating Murdock had given him.

But it doesn’t stop there.

Frank goes around, executing each and every person who hadn’t already been put to an end.

You just watch.

You’d be lying if you said that you disagreed with him. You don’t wanna have to see any of these people ever again, and you were at the end of your moral rope in deciding if keeping someone this evil alive was really gonna pay off.

So you stay quiet.

You stay quiet as you watch Matt throw a num-chuk at Franks wrist.

You stay quiet as you watch them go toe to toe.

You stay quiet as you watch Castle put a very winded Matt on his ass and, in the split second it takes for him to get back up, execute the last remaining unconscious villain.

“Screw you, Wilson.”

“Yeah, fuck you too, Alter Boy.” Frank spits back at Matt, walking across the platform, heading for the stairs that lead to the lower level where you are.

“Guys,” You hadn’t even noticed Wade until he spoke up. Your eyes trail over to him to see that he isn’t looking at you or the two arguing men. You can’t see from where you’re standing, so you slowly start to creep out from behind the piled boxes and rubble, energy ready and flowing at your hands, clouds of black fog dancing around your lightly closed fists.

“This is not a shooting gallery, Frank! One of these days someone’s gonna think you deserve this, what are you gonna do then?”

“I just have one thing to say to that, and it’s that they better not fucking miss!”

“Guys!” Wade yells, raising his voice way above the low level he had just muttered out.

“What?” Frank screams, looking down over the railing in a distracted attempt to see what he wants.

Before you can get in a place that you can see what’s gong on, Wade simply says,

“We’re not quite done yet.”

Just then you get to the clearing, and the sight that meets your eyes makes your blood go stone cold as your heart drops to your stomach.

You see a being, teeth long and sharp, with its mouth curved into a sickening smile exposing them all. There's drool dripping from its mouth, and veins covering its large, muscular, tall, tentacle like body. Then, as it emerges from the shadows, all you see is red.

But, what scares you the most isn't the look of this beast, or what it may have in store for you, or what it is, or where it came from. What makes your vision blur and knees go weak is who is held within its grasp.

Alex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who could it be??


	9. Chapter 9

"Alex?"

Her name comes out in a whisper past your lips.

You feel your breath catch in your throat and your body goes numb. You want to fight, you want to kill whatever that thing is, but you stop yourself. You don't know what would do more harm than good at this point, so you do all you can.

You stay quiet and you watch.

"Ah, fucking Hell, well look who we have here. It’s like Venom but on his period! How ya been, you homicidal maniac?"

You can tell Wade is hiding fear beneath his sarcasm. There's a slight shift in his step and unsurity in his voice that only those who have worked with or against him many times would notice.

Matt has backed his way against a wall and between some crates on the upper level of the warehouse. He’s able to stay hidden while also staying at the ready, and Frank has his gun up, creeping down the remaining stairs, eyes locked on the beast.

One look at Frank and you can tell he’s more than pissed.

This is his team.

These are his friends.

And you all are ready to do whatever it takes to end whatever this charade is right here and now.

All that is heard is some form of deep growl coming from the red beast.

Then it starts moving closer.

Slowly, one small motion at a time, Alex unmoving in its grasp. Is she even conscious? The shadows may not conceal the color of the monsters’ body, nor the fact that Alex is within its grasp, but you can't tell if she's alert or not, and that just puts you more on edge.

"Been lookin' all over for you." The beast growls, still continuing its creep towards you and Wade - but you can tell his focus is on the latter. It speaks in a deep, monster's tone, with something you think is a hint of southern in its accent.

"What, didn't get enough last time? Wishing I would’ve killed you then? Was prison not workin' out for ya?" Wade remarks, not moving his feet but occasionally pointing or opening his arms up.

The beast just hums a low growl, still continuing its slow, forward motions.

"Didn't really suit me."

At this point you can see Alex. She has blood dripping from her head and is dangling within the tentacle grasp of the thing's right arm. You don't know where to keep your sight focused, on her or on it, so you switch it between.

You try to get in her head but you're too distracted, so you leave it alone and focus on the here and now. Getting ready for whatever may come without giving too much away.

"Ok, let's get real here," Deadpool demands, seriousness and hate mixing within his voice,

"What are you doing here, and what are you doing with her?"

Another low growl leading into a drawling chuckle is heard from the red being.

"Fair question," it hisses.

"You see, I was on my way to find you. Surprised you couldn't tell I was comin' bein' on my 'wavelength' and all," a sinister smile creeps across his face.

You can tell there's a story behind what he just said.

"I was comin up through your phoneline, thankin' the almighty chaos you still got a landline."

At this point he had stopped just underneath the edge of the overpass, about 30 feet away or so. Nobody was talking loud, but each word was hear clear as could be.

A whispered 'Dammit' can be heard from Wade and you wonder what exactly this thing is and how it knows Wade.

"I was comin' to finish what you started. However, you weren't home. She was." It grins as it lifts up Alex, showing her to Wade as it begins to pace its area back and forth; slowly, calculatedly.

"So, I asked her a few questions," He hissed, "and brought her along. Perhaps as a tool, maybe… proof of life?"

He the tosses Alex to the floor, her unconscious body landing almost halfway between you and Wade and the sickening beast. She's in full view now. She has bruising cascading down her face, scrapes and blood across her knuckles, and blood around her mouth. She put up one hell of a fight, that's for damn sure. You see a slight rise and fall in her chest. She's breathing, but she's not looking too good. Her curly hair is matted with dirt and blood, her wrists are bound, and it's an overall horrifying sight.

This is your best friend. Your other half. This is the first and only person you have ever trusted to show all sides of yourself to. To share all of your fears, your worries, your happiness, your anger, your sadness to. This is practically your world lying limp in front of you, and you're not the kind of person to simply allow something like this to happen.

You're tempted to go for her, to force a shield around, protect her by any means necessary. But you're stopped as soon as you twitch a finger.

"Uh, uh, uh, sweetheart, not quite yet."

You barely have time to register the demeaning threat before it hits you. You feel a suffocation around your neck and you lift your gaze from Alex to the beast. It stretched out it's arm long enough to not only reach you, but to wrap around your neck and dangle your feet ever so slightly in the air. Enough to graze the floor but not enough to hold your footing.

His gaze, however, never left Wade.

"Alright, alright Elastagirl, you got me!" Wade yells, taking a few steps to the side, putting his arms up and slowly going for his katanas.

"You wanted me, right? Well I'm right here. Let's go, just you and me! We finish this shit right now!”

Wade is geared up and ready to go, but that's not something that's on the beasts’ agenda for today.

"Ahhh, no. No, you lost that chance. I'm here to show you what pure [**_Carnage_** ](https://pin.it/IJM6ZRYXSIEX74)really looks like."

You don't see it coming.

Not in the slightest.

The beast… Carnage.

You'd heard tales of him before. His name had even passed through Wade's lips a time or two, but he never truly spoke of him. Not what he looked like, not what he could do, and you were always told things were "over" so you never asked.

You wish you had.

You're up in the air, a red spear through your chest, and falling to the cold, unforgiving floor within a matter of less than a second.

You can't see, your vision is blurred, hearing is muffled, pain burning your body, blood building in the back of your throat, and all you can make out is the sound of gunshots and screaming.

Then it all fades to black.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Gore

_"Wake up"_

_"Y/N!"_

_"Y/N, wake up."_

_"Y/N Please!"_

**_"Wake up, Y/N!"_ **

Your eyes fly open and air rushes your lungs, your wings fluffed and chills erupting on your arms. You don't know where you are, what year it is, or who you are.

Then it comes back to you.

  
You died, and now you're back.

And you really wish that you weren't.

"Hey, hey, hey, you're okay. You're alright."

The voice of Frank catches your attention. You take a breath, note that you're in a notable abandon home, no furniture, run down counters, ripped walls and chipped and creaky wood floors. The living area where you're sat is connected to an open kitchen with a degraded breakfast bar and empty dining area just beside the entry. All rotten, old wood with vines creeping up the sides of the walls. You're sitting on the floor next to the wall farthest from the door. Grungy windows to the sides allowing in the light of day, your three closest friends surrounding you.

Frank.

Wade.

Matt.

No Alex.

But something catches your eye… a cloth. You can tell it's supposed to be white but it is stained a strong, sickening red. You barely manage to see the end of it, as the rest is hidden in the kitchen, blocked by the bar.

You know what it means, but you pray you're wrong.

You take one look into Frank's eyes, then desperately bounce your gaze towards Matt and then Wade. None able to give you the answer you want. They don't even have to say a word. Their dropped heads, shifting, red and glossy eyes, and avoiding glances are answer enough.

"Alex?" You barely manage to choke out a whispered plea, eyes bleeding into Frank and Wade for something, anything… But there's nothing. Your face has morphed into one of pure desperation. You're trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill over your gaze and you hold a grimace across your features. Lips shaking, mouth tight and down-turned, cheeks reddening, and you feel your breath begin to come in short, violent waves, causing your body to shake and lungs to burn as tears begin to mix with sweat and snot.

"I'm so sorry, kid."

Frank sighs, tears welled within his eyes as he maintains eye contact but shakes his head. His own mouth is grimaced and face is contorted, trying to hold back his own emotions.

Tears begin to roll down his face and it's damn near impossible for Matt nor Wade to stay composed as you let sobs completely take over, wrecking your body. You scream as you grab your chest and double over, pulling your knees up, wanting nothing more than to hide away and wake up to a different reality. You wail, saying nothing but conveying everything. It is desperate, and raw, and painful and it expresses everything you're feeling yet nothing at all because there is no thing that you can say or do or scream to even begin to attempt to relay the pain that you are feeling.

A physical pain has taken over within your body and you can't breathe. It is like your soul was ripped from you. You claw at your chest, weakly pound at the floor, and cry out. Wade is trying to hold back his sobs. He's sat, squatted above the ground about five feet from you yet not looking at you. Matt can't even raise his head. Frank just holds you as he lets his tears and the contorted muscles in his face be the only expression of emotion. His body is still, solid for you. He may be a soldier but he is also a dad, and to see someone who he holds so close, someone who he considers to be a child to him, feel this much agony - he can hardly stand it.

Nobody can.

"please. Please, no. Please," You're desperate. Begging to hear anything except the truth. You know what happened, but there's some part of you that is holding onto hope that if you don't hear it then it makes it not true.

"Please!" You cry, eyes piercing into Matt as if he can maybe give you a different ending to this horror story.

"Please, tell me! Tell me!" You know how this is going to go. You know that what you're doing is pointless.

But since when has logic ever coexisted with emotion?

You can't help how you feel. No matter how you know you should feel, or think, or act. You can't help it. You can't control it.

Wade can't take it. He stands, walking over to the wall, taking a quick gaze out of a dusty, stained window, and hauls off into the wood paneled wall. Hitting it, over and over again until his fist is stained with blood.

Matt lifts his head and wipes his face, almost as if he's trying to pull the stress from his mind but his hand gets stuck at his mouth. His thumb on one corner, following fingers on the other, and he just stands. Just exists. Not knowing what to do or think or feel. He's at a loss.

Frank continues to hold you into him. Pulling harder, as if he's trying to shield you from the rest of the world. Hide you from its' cruelty.

"I'm so sorry, kid," he whispers, not knowing what else to say to you.

Someway, somehow, you hurt even more. You didn't think it would be possible, but the pain in your chest, that wicked burning, sinking sensation doubles. You choke on your air, rest your head back against Frank's shoulder, and soundlessly sob.

"No! Please, no, God no!" You know how weak you must look, your voice coming out in a choked yet deafening screech, but you don't care.

Everything starts coming back to you.

The fight.

The first time you met.

The first place you guys found and crashed in.

The first stupid fight you guys had.

The first time you fought together.

The first time you saved her.

The first time you couldn't…

How? How are you all here and she isn't? How did you let her down like that? What even happened…

"How?" You manage to croak out, eyes peeking open, looking up at Frank, then over to Matt, and then to Wade.

"How did it happen?" Your teeth are gritted. You're angry about what happened, and you want answers, yet you're also struggling to get any words out without blubbering them.

After a moment of silence, Frank starts, his gaze forward as if he's replaying everything within his mind.

"She was gone from the start," he starts, jaw ticking, holding back his emotions in any way possible.

"He uhh, it was bad." Frank grimaces, recalling the horrors from the fight.

He doesn't want to say it, and you don't want to force him to. So you take matters into your own hands, literally.

You reach up, grasping the side of his face and focus on him.

Then it hits you.

You see it through his eyes.

You see the fight start. You see yourself get speared and lifted through the air just to be dropped on the concrete floor. Then you see Frank get blindsided, but he looks up in enough time to see Wade grasped by Carnage. Carnage drags him in view, just to show him, up close and personal, what was about to happen.

"This is on you. You should have _never_ come for me." He growls. He throws Wade to the ground beneath him, and looks over at Alex, still unconscious in his grasp.

"NO!" you hear frank yells as he scurries to get up.

But its too late.

Carnage takes one good, hard swipe, and all is done for.

He not only kills her,

_He slices her right in half…_

You take your hand off of Frank's head and cover your mouth. You feel sick to your stomach; the blood is draining from your face and you can barely breathe. You look around the room to see the looks of sorrow on everyone's faces. You immediately look over at the stained cloth peeking around the corner of the kitchen and then close your eyes, not wanting to picture the horror lying underneath it.

Wade still hasn't looked at you.

You put your hands to your sides, palms flat on the floor, and slowly push yourself up. You sway as you stand, catching your footing and steadying yourself. Your eyes never leave Wade. You force yourself to take one step after another. It takes nearly everything out of you, yet you continue on.

Until your standing right in front of him.

He's still 'looking' outside. His face is scrunched into a pain-filled expression. Tears welled in his eyes and rolling down his face.

You take one step closer, putting your hand around his jaw.

He resists, but you're persistent.

You force his line of to you, lifting his face. And it shatters your heart.

The look he's giving you is one of remorse. It is filled with regret and sorrow.

He looks like he wants to speak but doesn't have anything to say.

You stare back, nothing but sincerity held within your hard gaze.

"This," you begin, voice kept still, calm, and leveled.

"was not your fault." You finish.

He tries to shake his head. He tries to look away. But you will not allow such a thing.

You bring your other hand up and place one hand on each side of his face, looking up at him and holding still until he looks at you.

You can feel his sorrow, and it takes everything you have to keep going.

"I mean it. What happened today, it is not on you. You understand me? Not. On. You." Your voce stays strong but your face begins to give way of what your feeling.

Wade breaks.

He allows the upper half of his body to collapse, and you pull him into you. He embraces you and you embrace him. He's openly sobbing and hugging you. You just hold him back.

His sobs echo through the abandoned shack, and you can hear muffles cries of sorry, of him begging for a forgiveness that need not be asked.

Your team is broken.

Nobody is ever going to come back from this.

Your best friend, their loved one, everyone's partner in crime… gone. Just like that. Ripped away from you in a fate she did not deserve.

And out of all the questions running through your mind, one is more persistent than the rest…

**_Where is Carnage…_ **


End file.
